Page 41 of Enemies in Paradise

“Hello, kitty.” I bend down slowly, expecting my new friend to run.

But he (she?) meow-barks again—a sound ear-splittingly similar to my ten-year-old neighbor girl’s violin practice—and nudges my hand with the top of his head. I stroke his back, and he rubs his whole body against my leg.

I drag my hand over his back again, but he darts away to jump onto the kitchen table. Before I can get him off, he sticks his head into the glass of water I left there.

There’s only an inch of water left at the bottom of the tall, plastic glass, so he can’t reach it. But that doesn’t keep him from trying.

This is how I determine he’s a boy—likely a teenager. He has enough awareness to know his plan isn’t a good one, but he keeps pressing forward anyway, until he gets his entire head and part of his neck inside the cup. He sticks out his tongue and tips up the glass so the bit of water drops into his mouth. Most of it, though, spills over his head.

He tries to pull his head out of the glass, but he’s stuck. Not even shaking his head wildly gets him unstuck—the glass goes with him. His face and googly crossed eyes are mushed inside, and I’m doubled-over, laughing too hard to do anything but pull out my phone to take a picture.

I finally gain enough control to grab him and pull the glass off his head. “You’re not very smart, are you, buddy?”

I’m still laughing, but I am deeply, madly, in love with this cat. He lets out a loud meow bark, somewhere in the A-chord range, followed by another a little closer to C that might be a thank you.

“You want some food?” I walk to the kitchen and he follows.

That has to be a sign he wants to be here. He’s claimed me as much as I’ve claimed him.

I pull out the one can of wet cat food left in my cabinet. “Let’s call you Willy Wonkat. What do you think?”

He lets out something that could be a purr or a curse, and I’m confident we’re going to be very happy together. I open the food and dump it in a paper bowl. Willy Wonkat nearly climbs my leg to get to it before I can set it in front of him. I watch him eat for a few seconds as the voices outside grow louder.

They move inside the shop where I can hear them even clearer through the door separating the studio from the shop. Bear’s voice is the loudest, but the others belong to men too, and I can’t help wondering what they’re doing.

I’m about to press my ear to the shop door when there’s a knock at it, which makes me jump.

I open it a crack in case Willy Wonkat decides to make a break for it. Georgia and Evie are on the other side.

“Hey! The guys are playing hockey at the pond.” Georgia points her thumb at the men behind her who are in different states of dress, but the one who catches my eye is Bear.

He peels off his flannel shirt, giving me a view of his back muscles from his shoulders all the way down to where they taper into the hockey pants he’s wearing.

“Who’s playing?” I ask Georgia, trying to be casual.

The one thing that is playing—in my head—is the memory of Bear on drums, rocking to the beat, sweat dripping over every inch of his arms and chest. I thought he looked good that night, but now that I’ve got a full view of what lay beneath the tank he wore then, I can’t look away. His trap muscles have me trapped.

“Cassie?” Georgia’s voice brings me back to myself. “Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry. It’s a little loud in here.” My eyes dart back to her, but almost immediately, they’re drawn back over her shoulder to Bear.

As if my mouth weren’t already watering, he turns slightly so I get a glimpse of his abs. I quickly count. If his other half matches—and why wouldn’t it?—he’s got a solid eight pack. To make matters worse, Bear—still shirtless—stretches his arms high before tucking his hands behind his head. He pulls his shoulders back, opening his chest, and giving me a new, better view of his biceps and triceps.

Evie coughs loudly, and I tear my eyes away from Bear’s gun show. “If you enjoy watching him now, you’re going to love watching him play hockey.”

“Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Heat travels to my face before I can cover my cheeks.

Evie and Georgia laugh at me, but I throw up a lame defense, anyway. “I wasn’t looking at anyone!”

Georgia glances over her shoulder, but I don’t move my gaze, even though out of the corner of my eye I can see Bear swipe the back of his hand across his brow. And I don’t know how that’s sexy, but it is.

Georgia turns back to me with a smirk. “Remember last summer? When you called Bear Zach’s baby brother and thought he was way too young for you?”

My eyes shoot to Bear, who catches me and glares back. Or maybe his eyes were already that squinty from the after-effects of a major allergic reaction to cats. Caused by yours truly.

I look back to Georgia. “I stand by that. He is too young… but watching a hockey game sounds … fun.”

Especially since this may be my one and only chance to see what the big deal is about pond hockey. Pond hockey’s days in Paradise may be numbered—also thanks to yours truly. But my loan papers are in, and Georgia and I have been working on renovation plans together.

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